You're the one for me Fatty
by sky tulips
Summary: A bored Francis accompanies a fitness-focused Arthur to the gym. One-shot. France/England but mainly a friendship fic.


**A/N: **A Christmas present for my friend Miri. :) Title taken from a pretty damn awesome Morrissey song. Enjoy this complete and utter piece of...nonsense.

* * *

_**'You're the one for me, Fatty.'**_

"Remind me again why we are here, _Angleterre_." Francis says, staring at the tall building in disgust.

"_I_ am here because I want to be here." Arthur replies, shaking his head, "_You _are here because you decided to follow me."

"But see," Francis turns to Arthur and grins as though the very action pains him, "When you said 'I am going to the gym' with that _petit_ blush at your cheeks, I could only assume it was an alibi for something dirty."

"What kind of dirty activities would I be taking part in that I would need a gym-based alibi for?" Arthur sighs. His day has already been an overly long and troublesome one. Firstly, just before sunrise, his unicorn had broken her horn and he had spent _hours_ in the woodlands looking for magic bandages. Then, after patching her up, he discovered he was late to a meeting and he had lost his shoe polish and forgotten there was a public transport strike. He therefore had to _run _there with his shoes covered in mud and enchanted mushroom dust. Finding a bored Francis waiting for him when he got home really was the juicy cherry upon the cake of depression that was his day.

"What if you wished to visit one of those lovely sex shops of yours down in Soho? I mean, You have done it before, Arthur - remember that time when you fooled us into thinking you were going out to buy a 'new tin of shortbread and a packet of crisps'?" Francis lets out a sharp mock-cry and rests his head upon Arthur's shoulder, "And you know how much I _love_ to go to sex shops with you."

"Well, I'm _going_ to the gym, Francis," Arthur says and then, for added effect, points to his too-short track-suit bottoms, "See?"

Resisting the urge to point out Arthur's stupid Christmas-themed socks were on show, Francis takes the opportunity of grabbing Arthur's shoulders and shaking him. The gesture is perhaps a little over-dramatic, but sometimes such measures simply have to be taken.

"Why, Arthur?" Francis asks and Arthur tries his best to pull away, horrified the Frenchman is causing a scene so early in their excursion, "Why are we going to a gym?"

"_We _are not going to a gym." Arthur can feel the limits of his patience stretching like a balloon being filled with far-too-much air, "_I _am going to the gym. You, for all I care, can just go home, Francis."

"_Non_, _non_, I'll accompany you to the gym." Francis sighs like a martyr and then looks up suddenly and it is as if he has just realised something important and he proceeds to eye Arthur up and down, "Now that I am here, I feel like I have to see you in action. Who knew that _you_, of all people, were trying to lose weight -"

"I am _not _trying to lose weight. It is extremely important that we actively try to keep fit. You should really make an effort too, France." Frustrated, Arthur jabs Francis violently in the arm and then takes off towards the entrance.

"_Angleterre_!" Francis scolds, marching after his companion, "What if that had been my weight-lifting arm, you brute?"

* * *

"You know," Francis remarks, sitting upon the changing-room bench and beginning to scoop up his hair into a loose pony-tail, "I'm actually glad we've come here."

"Oh really?" Arthur raises an eyebrow in scepticism, "Why is that?"

"Watching someone at the gym is as close as you'll get to watching that same person having sex." Francis rounds off his explanation with a perverse grin.

"That really doesn't make any sense." Arthur folds his arms across his chest, "At all."

"Of course it does." Francis laughs "What the body goes through during exercise isn't unlike what the body goes through during sex. In fact, you could say that sex _is _a form of exercise."

"_You _could." Arthur mutters, "But then again, if you do _anything _almost as much as you fucking _breathe_, you could technically classify it as exercise."

"Very true." Francis nods, "Anyway, I bet that what someone is like during exercise is _exactly_ what they are like during sex and that is because the two are extremely alike. Think about it - You get flushed and hot, your heart pounds and races like it's about to burst. As you work out, your muscles tense and then they _spasm_ and your breath quickens - becoming faster and harder. You slowly come undone. _Although_ we have to remember that people are different, aren't they? They have their _limits_.Some people fall to _pieces_ while exercising - sweating and straining - whereas others are much more controlled and focused. Some people are extremely _loud_ when they exercise - moaning, grunting, panting - others are silent and, sometimes, don't even seem to break a sweat. Some people get a kick out of exercise. Then there are those who keep coming back to it even though they hate it - masochists, _oui_? Some people get enjoyment - _pleasure _- out of exercise. Others, of course, are thinking 'I wish I was dead' as they're doing it. I suppose that is true for sex, sometimes, though, and - _what_? What is it? _Angleterre_! Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You are _not_ coming in that gym with me." Arthur says, his face as red as a stop-sign.

"_Quoi_? B- but Arthur! I-" Francis begins, but Arthur shakes his head.

"You are _not _watching me - nor anyone else, for that matter - exercise, you revolting pervert." Arthur hisses, and, before Francis can object, snatches up his water bottle and leaves the room.

* * *

Upon leaving the changing rooms, Francis is met with the sound of the insanely upbeat so-called 'motivation music' hurtling through the radio speakers and the somewhat dizzying scent of sweat and desperation. Arthur is already standing at a treadmill with a towel slung casually over his shoulders and with a confusion upon his face that only deepens as he pushes the buttons in an obviously random order, sending the band of the treadmill zooming round at a ridiculous, impossible pace.

Folding his arms and leaning against the wall by the water cooler, Francis watches in amusement as Arthur straddles the machine, one foot at either side, looking down at the band with both determination and apprehension. Next, Arthur takes the plunge, hopping onto the treadmill and straight into a run. He immediately tumbles backwards and for a moment, Francis straightens and leans forward because it is becoming increasingly obvious his friend is going to fly off the thing and be sent plummeting straight onto the floor (Though whether the prospect causes him excitement or concern, Francis is not sure).

However, just as Francis gets ready to either go save his stupid, over-achieving ally or, alternatively, go grab a camera, Arthur's eyebrows suddenly furrow in fierce concentration and, with a sudden spark of energy that Arthur himself probably didn't know he had, he grabs the bar with both hands and straightens. Relaxing, and smiling ever-so-slightly in a typical 'I-did-it!' fashion, Arthur tries to steady himself and find a suitable rhythm. Arthur's legs blur, almost, moving clumsily like slightly-broken windmill arms. Of course, Francis thinks, the treadmill is still whizzing round at a level beyond Arthur's capabilities but then, who is Francis to tell Arthur his limits?

Francis casually walks round to where Arthur is 'working out' and begins stretching, raising his arms and bending his knees.

"You press that minus sign to make it go slower, _cher _Arthur." Francis offers, pointing obnoxiously to the huge button at the front of the machine.

"I know what it does!" Arthur snaps loudly through gasps, "I don't need to use that! This is the pace I _want_ to go at!"

"Well, okay, _mon ami_, but you look and sound as if you are about to collapse and die. I don't think that result really meets the objective of today's little jaunt, does it?. Dead is about as far away from fit as you can get, _oui_?" Francis chuckles and Arthur glares at him with his teeth bared, making a noise that sounds like a hybrid of a growl and a whine.

"Shut the fuck up and go do your little stretches over there." Arthur snarls breathlessly.

"But then I won't be able to catch you when you come zooming off," Francis smirks and claps his hands together, "Honestly, I admire your creativity and all but there are better ways of getting into my arms than being _catapulted _there, _Angleterre_."

"Nnh- 'Mnotcomingoff." Arthur spits and then suddenly jerks in place, reaching for his side with one hand and holding on to the bar tightly with the other.

"What is it, Arthur?" Francis asks, crouching down and stretching out one leg gracefully, "Do you have a side cramp?"

"Turnitoff, turnitoff!" Arthur yells, nodding his head desperately.

"You want me to turn it off?" Francis asks slowly and with faux unsureness.

"Yes!" Arthur's legs twitch and buckle slightly, "Yes, please!"

"As you wish, _mon cher_!" Francis exclaims loudly, "I will rescue you!"

Springing forwards, Francis hits the 'stop' button with his entire fist, making sure to outstretch his other arm so that Arthur will stumble backwards into it. He does so and immediately pushes Francis away, wheezing, spluttering and gulping down oxygen while rubbing his side tenderly.

"Well," There is a sly smirk pulling at Francis' lips, "That was fun, wasn't it?"

"Get out of this gym!" Arthur screams and, although he looks exhausted, finds enough energy to boot Francis just above the knee, "I hope you have to stretch that entire leg again, you disgusting bastard."

"Arthur - calm down! Stress is not the key to a _fit_, healthy mind and body! Honestly - I thought you-" Francis protests, beads of tears forming in his eyes out of both amusement and pain.

"_And _that leg." Arthur says dryly, kicking the Frenchman once more.

* * *

Having regained his breath, composure and conviction, Arthur once more steps up to the treadmill. Francis notes it is definitely moving at a much slower rate and receives a disgruntled hiss for his thoughts.

"Enough with this 'I want to get fit!' nonsense, Arthur," Francis says, propping his elbows upon Arthur's treadmill and staring across at his companion, "Why the sudden need to work out? Just tell it to me straight - are you getting pudgy in your old age?"

"Fat chance!" Arthur scoffs.

"_Fat _chance?" Francis repeats with a shallow laugh, "Now, why would you say that?"

"Oh, don't be idiotic," Arthur rolls his eyes and puffs out his cheeks slightly, "Though I understand that's your default setting."

"Just like your current setting is slightly..._chubby_?" Francis nods.

"Shut the fuck up! If anything, you're the old, fat oneyou- you walking tub of lard!" Arthur snaps, whipping his head to the side and losing his momentum, stumbling slightly.

"Not that I would mind, _mon cher_," Francis purrs, dipping his head to dodge Arthur's fist, "There would be more of you to love that way."

"You don't even get to love my _toe_, you great louse," Arthur glares at Francis and attempts to shove the other man's arms off of his treadmill, "Now, if you don't mind, I'm trying to _exercise_. You should do the same. All you have done for the past hour is that piss-poor stretching of yours. Oh yes - and then you stood around like a hopeless case and made ridiculous comments. Just do _something_, Francis."

"I am just about to!" Francis winks, "You, Arthur, are about to be amazed by the beauty of my daily fitness doctrine."

"I'm sure I am." Arthur retorts sarcastically.

Francis walks forwards a few steps from where he was previously standing in front of Arthur's treadmill and then stops, abruptly. He whirls round and brings his feet together as if he is about to engage in some sort of duel. Then, just as Arthur thinks 'Wow - maybe he's going to _actually _work out', Francis begins to _swim_. That's right - swim. He spins his arms up and over his head and kicks his legs up off the ground, doing some sort of farcical front crawl on land. He smiles, thrusts his hips forwards and twists his wrists with a little flair, all the while swimming through the air. It is around this point that Arthur actually begins to wonder if it's actually some kind of bizarre ritual dance rather than a 'daily fitness doctrine'.

"And what the hell is that?" Arthur asks, well aware he is slightly agape.

"This," Francis calls, "Is my work-out!"

"You look like a right daft sod." Arthur snorts and then ducks as Francis' empty water bottle is hurled fast over his head.

"Seriously, Francis. Why don't you do something _normal_? Why don't you go on the rowing machine?" Arthur suggests - although he doesn't really know why he is bothering.

"My ass gets numb." Francis pouts, beginning to add spins to his routine.

"What about the exercise bike, then?" Arthur asks, sighing in exasperation.

"_Valuable_ things get crumpled, _Angleterre_." Francis says, shaking his head.

"So you're just going to _prance _about in front of my like the complete and utter ponce that you are?" Arthur snaps, irritated.

Francis smiles, "_Oui_, of course."

* * *

"Well, _Angleterre_, How are you doing? I sincerely hope you're feeling slimmer- er- _fitter_!" Francis leans against Arthur's treadmill as it slows to a stop, laughing at his slip-of-the-tongue.

"Well, _I_ sincerely hope you've stopped dicking around, Francis. I'm embarrassed to be seen associating with you." Arthur mutters sternly.

"That's because you're so uptight, _cher _Arthur." Francis chides lightly.

"And to answer your question - _yes_, I do feel rather _fitter_." Arthur smiles and points to the digits blinking upon the treadmill.

"As if that's the case," Francis scoffs and waves a hand, "You're pointing to the _number of calories burned_ - come now, Arthur, what is this really about?"

Arthur sighs and smothers his face with his hand, "All right! All right! I'll admit it - I came here to get myself into shape, _okay_? I've put on a _little_ bit of weight and-"

"Arthur-" Francis tries to interrupt.

"_Fine_! Not a little - a lot. I've put on a _lot_ of weight. Are you happy, you great big git?" Arthur yells, jabbing Francis in the chest with his pointed finger.

"You have _not _put on a lot of weight-" Francis argues, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.

"I have-" Arthur gasps and then lets his voice drop to a harsh whisper, "I have _love handles_."

Francis pauses and then buries his face in his hands, sniggering.

"You're laughing at me!" Arthur cries out, "That's right - have a good laugh at old, _fat _Arthur you nasty wanker."

"_Non_, you are being ridiculous Arthur. You are not fat. Besides, even if you were, it would not matter, _mon cher_. You could be the size of a house - no - the size of a _sperm whale _- and you would still be the one for me." Francis gently rests a hand atop of Arthur's head and smiles.

Arthur glares, wondering if Francis is being sincere or merely teasing him. After all, it's so hard to tell.

"Now," Francis turns in place and beckons Arthur towards the changing room, "How about we ditch this treadmill and go do something that will make you feel better?"

"Like what?" Arthur asks, following his friend. Ha - his _friend._

"We could fashion some peepholes in the changing rooms?" Francis proposes, beaming at Arthur.

Arthur sighs, and Francis prepares himself for the incoming assault of physical and verbal abuse.

Then, Arthur raises his head and grins back at Francis, nodding, "Alright then, you pervert."


End file.
